


Courting the Future

by Zephyrfox



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), The Tomorrow People (1973)
Genre: Courting the Quartermaster, Don't copy to another site, James Bond has a mystery, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Pre-Relationship, Tomorrow People AU, all violence off screen, get-together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyrfox/pseuds/Zephyrfox
Summary: James Bond wants to get to know his Quartermaster a little better. It's a good thing he's so determined. Of course, Q isn't exactly averse to the attention. It takes a while, but when James realizes that Q is the solution for his current mission, he gets the answers he's been looking for.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	Courting the Future

The corridors of MI6 teemed with personnel, all going about their business. Going to meetings, leaving meetings, en route to the canteen, chatting with their friends, sneaking off for a cigarette, delivering mail or supplies, and even taking trips to the restrooms. Each one of them eyed James Bond carefully as he passed them. A Double O not on assignment was a chancy experience at best, and, well, a visit to the hospital wing at worst. Not that it was unknown for agents to be wandering the halls of MI6 — just that it was reasonable to be wary of those agents.

James knew that he had a certain reputation. All Double O’s did. Right now, though, he wasn’t concerned with what his fellow government employees might be thinking. He had a puzzle that he was working on. He didn’t work on it all the time, of course. But after Skyfall, whenever he had a free moment, his thoughts would turn towards the puzzle. And today, after submitting the last of his overdue paperwork, he had all the time in the world. He headed towards Q branch with a spring in his step. He allowed himself a smirk, uncaring how that affected everyone he walked past.

He was a hunter on the prowl.

* * *

Q-Branch, depending on just where in the branch you were, was either quiet enough to put someone to sleep, or a riot of noise and confusion as the techs created their latest toys for the agents. That latter part was, to be honest, James’ favorite part of the branch. Today, however, he was headed for the quieter area; the bullpen, home to Q’s programmers and developers. Q kept an office nearby, but he was more often found using one of the floater desks in the bullpen, surrounded by his computer geeks — not that James would dare describe them that way in Q’s presence, of course.

A few of them looked up at James as he walked in, then quickly went back to their screens. On the near side of the room, a knot of people hovered around one of the computers, discussing something of supreme importance — to geeks, at least — but none of them were his puzzle, so he immediately dismissed them from his mind.

He scanned the area. None of the techs had an assigned desk, and the Quartermaster was scrupulous in keeping that habit himself.  _ Now, where could Q be—  _

“Hello,” the voice of his puzzle said, coming from his right. 

James turned at the unexpected greeting, and there was his puzzle, in the corner on the far side of the room — on the phone.  _ Ah.  _ James pushed away a tiny bit of disappointment as he realized that Q wasn’t talking to him after all. He moved closer, ears alert to catch any clues his puzzle might let slip.

Q stood at the workstation he had claimed for this shift; a standing desk set up with several monitors and at least one laptop. James wasn’t sure if the other screen was a laptop or a tablet with its own keyboard. “Yes, of course,” Q said into the phone, a fond smile curving his lips.

_ Interesting,  _ James thought, intrigued. He waved to get Q’s attention and indicated a nearby chair, ignoring the eyeroll of exasperation. Q said nothing to stop him from rolling it closer, however, and continued with his call.

“I can see you—” 

“If the rest of that sentence is _ tonight, _ I’ll be very disappointed, Quartermaster,” James said easily as he lounged in the chair like a lazy lion. “Are you stepping out on me? Do you have a new boyfriend?”

Q shot him a quelling look. “One moment, Professor, I need to put you on hold.” He pushed a button and focused on James, distinctly unimpressed. “Really, Bond? Boyfriend? You and I are  _ not  _ going out.”

“ _ Yet,”  _ James emphasised with equanimity.

The only response to that was an inelegant snort, but Q didn’t exactly dispute the assertion, either. 

James smiled, completely innocent, and leaned back in the chair. Internally he was dancing gleefully.  _ Point to the Double O. _

As if realizing James wasn't going to leave anytime soon, Q pushed the button on his phone again. This time, he pressed another button as well. “Hello, Professor, I’m back. You’re on speaker. Say hello to James.”

_ “James?”  _ An elderly man’s voice came over the speaker, and James relaxed minutely. “James Bond, is it? Wi— erm, that is, erm, _ Q  _ has told me quite a bit about you.”

James knew better than to betray his interest, but whoever this professor was, he knew Q by his real name. Well,  _ possibly  _ his real name. Mindful of appearances, he caught Q’s eye and preened a bit before responding to the phone. “Hello, Professor…?” he let his voice trail off in a question.

Q, the bastard, cut in. “Don’t tell him your surname, Professor.” He looked at Bond, smugly sure of himself. “We wouldn’t want you to track down the professor just find out  _ my  _ name.”

James inclined his head with a small smile.  _ Point to the puzzle.  _ For the next few minutes, he listened as Q and his professor had a nice, normal, and exceedingly  _ dull  _ conversation. At the end, Q threw him an odd look, then said, “John and Elizabeth won’t be available, but I’ll see if Susan or Gia can look into that matter. I’ll talk to you later, professor.”

James smiled broadly as Q hung up. Four more names to check out. Granted, he didn’t have surnames for them yet, but he was sure he’d find something sooner or later.

“Now then,” Q said, brow raised in inquiry. “Was there anything you wanted, Bond?” 

“No, I believe I have enough to keep me occupied for the moment, dear Quartermaster.” James stood, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Q’s. He lowered his voice suggestively. “Would you care to dine with me this evening, since you won’t be seeing your Professor X?” He was amused to see Q’s eyeroll at his antics.

“Thank you, but no. I have a previous engagement to spend the evening with a new book,” Q said, shaking his head with an amused smile. “You’re welcome to try again another time, though.”

James fought the urge to take Q’s hand and kiss it. That would be rather a bit  _ too  _ over the top. At least now he had explicit permission to continue asking Q for a date. He smiled his best, most charming smile. “Another time, then, dear Q.”

He whistled at jaunty air as he left the bullpen, ignoring the glares from Q’s fellow computer geeks. Things were looking up. At the very least, they were quite interesting.

* * *

A few weeks and two short missions later, James spent some of his down time prowling the lower levels of MI6 in search of his Quartermaster. One of the Q Branch minions had let slip that Q could be found on one of the more remote weapons testing ranges, a few levels below the main branch. Those ranges were far enough underground that the only reason anyone braved the damp chill was to blow something up. James wondered idly what Q was working on.  _ Some new weapons design?  _ That was a bit odd. Q normally restricted himself to hacking and programming. Even though Q was an excellent shot, he preferred to keep his destructive tendencies in the virtual realm.

James slowed as he heard a pair of voices ahead of him, coming from inside the last range. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, though. Voices bounced off the rough-hewn corridor walls by design, the echoes making eavesdropping difficult. He could make out at least two people, though. He didn’t recognize one voice, but the other was definitely Q’s. With a smirk, James stepped around the corner to confront — only the quartermaster? James frowned. He could’ve sworn he’d heard two voices, but the range was empty of anyone other than Q. He scanned the room, puzzled. There was nowhere for anyone else to go.

“Bond?” Q asked, sounding equally confused. He stood in the open area in front of the range, parts of a weapon half assembled on the table in front of him.

James shook his head. He must have imagined the second voice. “Talk to yourself a lot down here, do you?”

Q’s eyes widened, and then he laughed. James couldn’t help an answering smile as he listened to that laugh, fascinated by the carefree sound. 

“You’ve caught me,” Q said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I do talk to myself down here. The echoes make it sound like I have company while I’m testing equipment. Now — Did you want something, Bond?”

James let the explanation go. Instinct told him Q wasn’t telling the whole truth, yet that same instinct trusted Q. “Just to invite you to dinner, dear Q,” he said, issuing his usual invitation.

This time, Q studied him first instead of the usual immediate refusal. “I’m afraid I’ve already scheduled a dinner date with my cats, Bond. Another time, perhaps?”

“I look forward to it, dear Q,” James conceded with good grace.  _ Ah well.  _ It was a good try at least. Perhaps Q would agree to a date sooner rather than later. At least Q hadn’t changed his mind about allowing James to continue to ask him out.

* * *

The next time James encountered the Quartermaster was by chance rather than seeking him out for the purpose. James, along with two other Double O’s who hadn’t the foresight to be on mission or otherwise unavailable, had been strongarmed into attending a meeting which amounted to nothing more than a dog and pony show. All the MI6 department heads had been trotted out to give several visiting VIPs a glimpse of MI6’s inner workings, in the hope that they’d be a bit more open with the purse strings the next time the budget came up. 

James and the two other Double O’s were stood together holding up one of the walls opposite the door — purposely placed there by Mallory so they’d have no chance to escape. Well, with any luck they wouldn’t be called on to perform, either. Evelyn Hunt, 003, only looked like a porcelain doll. James had seen her garotte an enemy agent nearly twice her size on one of their missions together. Parker Quinn, 009, had an easy smile that hid a killer’s eyes. James and Quinn had once brawled their way through a crowd of street toughs to get to their target.

About the only good thing about the situation was that James had an excellent view of the Quartermaster, seated on the other side of the table. He caught Q’s eyes, and was surprised and pleased when Q winked at him. He nodded back, an almost imperceptible movement of his chin, in acknowledgement. James decided to intercept Q on their way out of the meeting. Perhaps Q would accept his invitation this time.

Finally, all the guests had found their seats, coffee and muffins had been distributed, and the lights dimmed. Mallory stood and began his presentation. James huffed under his breath and prepared to spend the next hour or so bored out of his mind. Only a quarter of an hour later, he was surprised to find that Mallory’s presentation went far more quickly than he’d expected. Penelope Grant, the head of research, was up next with her presentation.

On his left, Hunt muttered for their ears alone, “What, he’s done already?”

On Hunt’s other side, Quinn snorted lightly. Barely a breath louder, he said, “Surprising, isn’t it? He’s usually so in love with the sound of his own voice.”

Mallory glanced at them with a slight smile, almost as if he had heard them. 

Grant, perhaps excited to be out of her natural habitat of books and computers, began a lecture. James had to admit research was a vital part in planning missions, but she did drag on. Fortunately, Mallory stepped in before she could go on for too long, and introduced the next speaker. Q. The Double O’s knew better than to groan in anticipation of another long-winded presentation.

The Quartermaster was a pleasant surprise, however. James had no idea that Q was such a gifted public speaker. Straight to the point, lots of eye contact, no nervous fiddling, and obviously cared deeply about his subject. James would almost feel guilty about the amount of equipment he destroyed each mission, but by the way several of the VIP’s nodded along with him, Q Branch’s next budget should easily be approved.

James caught Q’s eye again after the Quartermaster had returned to his seat and gave him a nod of approval. James noted with interest the flush rising to Q’s cheeks, and generously turned his attention back to the new speaker, one of the VIPs. James had no idea what his function or title was — he didn’t recognize the name. This one, naturally, dragged on. 

And on.

Hunt shifted next to James with a stifled sigh, obviously unhappy with the proceedings. Quinn was tapping the back of his head against the wall, a metronome of bored, bored, bored.

The speaker periodically bumped the table as he spoke. James could see the resulting vibrations in the coffee cups next to the people sitting in front of him. They reminded him of vibrations he’d seen in a waterbottle during an earthquake in California, way back when he was still in the Royal Navy, and had gone there for a joint exercise. He thought fondly on that earthquake now. It had only been a few tremors, and it would at least be a way to get this man to stop talking. Best of all, it wouldn’t be  _ his  _ fault.

James’ attention automatically drifted back to Q, whose own glazed expression almost convinced him it was time to pull his backup piece and start an argument with Hunt or Quinn. They’d go along with it, of course. A fight would surely be more fun than  _ this. _

Then he realised that Q was watching the speaker’s own coffee mug. James’ eyes followed his, wondering what Q had noticed. Bump, vibration, bump — but the coffee mug seemed to jump that time, and James watched gleefully as the mug tipped over, spilling its contents into the speakers lap. 

Everyone was up and moving, speaking over each other. Hunt stepped on James’ shoe and shoved at Quinn. “Let’s get out of here.”

Excellent idea. James followed his fellow Double O’s out into the hallway, where they separated by unspoken agreement. If they didn’t know where the others were going, it would be harder to track them all down.

James was halfway to the garage, intent on going for a drive before he realized.  _ Fuck.  _ In all the confusion, he hadn’t had the chance to ask Q to dinner.

* * *

James stalked through the quarters of MI6 on his way to Q-Branch. He scarcely noticed the people in his path who turned pale and scattered as he strode past. He was full of fury, eager to get his hands on his current target: the leader of a child kidnapping and human trafficking ring. James’ lips parted in a snarl that bared his teeth. The ringleader would be lucky to survive after James was done with him. 

He strode into Q Branch and went directly to the bullpen. James was almost surprised he had made it to Q branch without cracking and injuring anyone, which might be less his self control and more Tanner clearing the hallways. The minions were apparently made of sterner stuff than other MI6 employees. They paled, but didn’t duck out of his way. 

In the bullpen, James didn’t have to look toward the corner where Q had set up last time. This time he had established himself in the center of the room, at a desk that faced the door.

Q stared at James over the top of his monitor, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

“A mission.” James deliberately reached for calm as he explained his assignment. No sense frightening any of the techies. Well. More than he already had, at any rate.

Q’s eyes went wide, as James explained, then narrowed. As soon as he finished, Q nodded decisively. “Yes, I understand. Trafficking in children is vile.” A sly smile curved Q’s lips. “I have just what you need.”

James watched as Q pulled together his usual kit: a Walther and a radio. This time, Q added a silencer for the Walther and a few round balls that looked for all the world like tennis balls in different colors. Why had Q included them? James could feel his brows raise when Q added a tennis racquet to go with the balls.

Q noticed his surprise and smirked. “Don’t worry, there’s a reason for everything, Bond. This one,” Q touched the yellow ball, “is a smoke grenade. The blue one is sleep gas, and the red is the explosive. Mind you remember the colors. The racquet itself is strung with explosive wire, and there are blasting caps in the handle.

Well, that should do nicely. James picked up his kit and turned to leave when a thought struck him. He hesitated. “Q…”

The Quartermaster looked up from his desk with a curious frown. “Yes, Bond?”

“Your Professor X.” James ignored Q’s usual eyeroll. “What field of study is his specialty?”

Confusion filled Q’s hazel eyes. “Why?”

“Because one of my targets is a British professor, Cawston. A parapsychologist of all things.” James was aware of his rising revulsion at the thought of a British citizen mixed up in all this and deliberately relaxed his shoulders, aware that he was nearly spitting his words and Q was reacting to his fury with alarm. “I wondered if he might know where to find someone in that field. Perhaps there’s a friend of a friend or something. Naturally, as a British citizen we can’t go after Cawston directly. We have other people we’re targeting.”

Q shook his head, eyes still troubled by James’ show of temper. “I don’t think so. I’ll ask—” Q held up a hand as James began to interject, to remind him of the need for discretion, “—discreetly, obviously. I doubt he’ll be of much help, though.”

James nodded. “Thank you.” He felt Q’s eyes on his back as he turned and strode out of the branch. He didn’t regret his show of temper. Better Q learn now that James wasn’t a tame lion by any means. Still, he’d have to find some way to make it up to Q later.

* * *

It took several weeks of investigation, following leads that were slim or none, but James persevered. Ultimately, the trail led him to Cyprus. An unlikely place for human trafficking, he thought. An island paradise, awash with sun, the smell of the sea — and full of tourists. 

James ambled along a cobbled path, a hat on his head protecting him from the sun beating down, and sunglasses shading his eyes. The very picture of a tourist without a care in the world and with nothing better to do than wander the island.

In truth, however, James was frustrated. He had nothing new to report. No sign of Cawston or any of the children he’d kidnapped. And Q had confessed at his last check in — from Turkey — that his Professor X knew nothing of any parapsychologists named Cawston. Well, that had been a slim hope. But a lead, an overheard snatch of conversation in a cafe in Istanbul, had brought him to Cyprus. James adjusted the strap of the bag that was digging into his shoulder instead of his shoulder holster, reminding him that he’d deliberately left his gun in his hotel room. He felt a little ridiculous carrying around the tennis racquet and balls, but they’d help sell the illusion that he was a harmless tourist. And, in a pinch, he’d be able to blow something up.

A pair of young woman watching indulgently while half a dozen or so younger children played in the sand caught his eye. Nannies or au pairs, possibly. None of the children looked related. He looked closer, mindful of his mission. All of them looked well fed and happy. He doubted he was looking at children who had been kidnapped or held against their will. 

He dismissed them from his thoughts to meander on. Surely there had to be a clue  _ somewhere.  _

“Susan, Gia!” A young man’s voice came from a brightly colored tour bus parked just off the street. “The professor just called. John and Elizabeth are on their way!”

Those names — James stopped in the middle of the path, shocked. He’d heard those names before. In Q-Branch.  _ Q. _

He shoved aside Q’s betrayal and faded back a few steps to watch the young women usher the children — all still laughing and having fun — into the bus. He had no way to follow it at the moment, unless… yes, there was a scooter left abandoned by the sea wall. James smirked. It would do nicely to follow the bus. 

* * *

James worried at the thought of Q’s betrayal as he followed the bus out of the city and into the countryside. Could Q be being blackmailed? Coerced in some way to support the kidnappers? Then he had to pay attention to more immediate matters — keeping his quarry in sight without being spotted in turn. Traffic had died down to nearly nothing. He watched the bus turn off the road, headed for a small compound, and kept on going. With any luck, anyone suspicious of him would be reassured that his destination was elsewhere on the island. He could circle back when he was out of sight.

Two turns and a hill later he did just that, and aimed for the compound. He avoided the road and went overland, at least as far as he thought the scooter would hold up. Then he hid it in a haystack and went on foot.

The sun was heading down as he got to his target. Lights were coming on in the main house, with the sound of a radio playing gentle music drifting over the air. James frowned as he realized uneasily that there were no guards in sight.  _ Where was the security? _

* * *

James had scouted the compound and surrounding area and made his way to a portion of the wall that would allow him easy access. He stepped up onto a piece of junk, some machinery that had been abandoned, crammed his toes into a crack several feet above that, reached for the top of the wall, hauled himself up — and threw himself over, tucking and rolling as he landed. 

He cursorily brushed himself off and darted across the compound to the nearest shelter. His goal was a partially open door to what could be a storeroom — or the place they kept the children prisoner. He made it through the darkened doorway without being seen. 

James looked around in the dim light, somewhat disappointed to see nothing more than a storeroom full of supplies. Of course it couldn’t be  _ that  _ easy, he told himself scornfully. A woman’s voice caught his attention and he hurriedly slid between two crates.

“—Don’t worry, I’ll only be a minute!” The woman stepped into the room, flicking the lightswitch.

James recognized one of the two young women from the beach as he ducked lower behind the crate he was hiding behind. If she came just a bit closer…

“Ah, there you are!” 

The voice was almost in James’ ear.  _ Had he been spotted?  _ No matter, if she was close enough to spot him, she was close enough to grab. He burst out from behind the crate, only to realize that the woman’s back was towards him, and she was on tiptoes, reaching for a can of peaches on an upper shelf. He rushed towards her as she turned, her face shocked, mouth becoming an O of astonishment as he grabbed her. “Not a sound,” James gritted into her ear.

She trembled under his grip but nodded her understanding. “Wh... who are you?”

A little bit of spunk. James let his teeth show when he grinned, not that she could see. “My name is Bond. James Bond. I’m here to take your organization down. If you help me, you might receive a lighter sentence.” As he spoke, her trembling stilled. Obviously she was interested in his deal.

“What do you want?”

James shifted his grip to something a little kinder, to give her the illusion of trust. “Take me to the professor.” And then, he’d find out what the professor knew about Q.

The woman was quiet for a moment, then she licked her lips and nodded. “All right. He should be in his study now, working before dinner.”

She was still nervous, James decided. Excellent. She didn’t seem to be a fighter. He released her, although he took her hand. “Lead the way.”

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the door, James knew he’d made a mistake. The barrel of a pistol pressed against his skull, the sound of it cocking so close causing shivers to run down his spine.  _ Shit.  _ He’d forgotten the woman spoke to someone on her way into the storeroom.

“Let Susan go,” a young man’s voice said.  _ “I  _ can at least shoot you.”

Probably the young man from the bus earlier, James decided. But why the odd emphasis that  _ he  _ could shoot? Was that an implication that the woman was unarmed? But James knew that already.

The young man moved the pistol from James’ head to his back and prodded him between the shoulder blades. “Move forward. Follow Susan.”

She flashed a strange look, one James couldn’t interpret, at the young man, but acquiesced and led the way into the house. James could hear voices in other parts of the building, but no one came near. Part of him was relieved that none of the others would get hurt, but part of him regretted not having the opportunity to engineer a distraction so he could get away.

Susan stopped at a nondescript door that James assumed was the study. She gave him a frown, but tapped on the door and opened it. “Professor?”

James followed her inside, the young man’s pistol still firmly pressed against his spine.

The professor appeared to be an elderly man, and was seated at a desk covered in paper, with a computer and several extra monitors. James was bizarrely reminded of Q’s own desk. The professor looked up and smiled. “Ah, Susan, there you are. Why don’t you go see how Gia is doing with dinner? I’m sure she could use the help. Marc, you too. Run along, now.”

“But, professor,” both young people protested immediately. Marc continued alone, “you need me to protect you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll be fine. Go on, now, shoo.”

James kept still, wondering what the hell was going on, as Susan and Marc exchanged resigned glances at left without further protest.

The professor stood and came out from behind his desk, hand extended. “James Bond, isn’t it? I’m Professor Cawston.”

James stared at him, ignoring the outstretched hand. Plans raced through his head. Should he kill the professor? Or take him hostage? He needed only a few minutes to contact MI6 to let them know where he was to send in the troops — He stiffened. Q. He couldn’t trust Q. he glared at Cawston, whose face… fell?

The professor let his hand go to his side, disappointment radiating from him. “Oh, well… Nevermind, I suppose? Now, don’t worry. William will be along shortly. He can explain everything to you.”

_ William?  _ Realization hit James like a lightning bolt as he realized that was Q’s real name. Bitterness turned the realization into ash in his mouth as he also realized this was proof of Q’s betrayal of MI6. Of  _ him. _

James could see the whole room from where he stood in front of the door, and he and the professor were the only two in the room. Until they weren’t. Q stood there, having appeared between the professor and the desk in the blink of an eye. There had been no way for him to have arrived without James noticing.  _ What the hell? _

“Professor? James?” It was definitely Q’s voice, that little note of worry he got when he was afraid James was in danger of doing something ill-considered. Which, admittedly, was often.

“I believe you have some explaining to do, William. I’ll leave you to it.” Cawston smiled genially at both of them, then edged around James to get to the door. 

Feeling a bit shell shocked, James shifted, allowing the professor to leave. There was more going on here than human trafficking if Q was involved — and how had Q managed to transport like that? Some new technology?

“No, it’s not new technology,” Q said, a sad smile twitching on his lips, there and gone again. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I’d rather you never knew.”

Fury burned in James’ stomach at the confirmation of Q’s betrayal. The Quartermaster hadn’t been tricked or betrayed himself. “That you’re a traitor?”

“No. That there are those of us who can do things you never will be able to.”

“What?” That made no sense. James frowned, his eyes darting towards the computer. Of course Q could do things he couldn’t. 

“No, I don’t mean computer skills. I mean mental abilities, like teleportation.”

James’ jaw dropped. His stomach twisted — what else could Q do? “You’re reading my mind!”

Q’s eyes widened in shock. “No, I can’t! I’m… I just know what you’re likely to think, I  _ know  _ you, James.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” James crossed his arms, thrusting his chin out mulishly. 

“Can we at least sit down?” Q, his expression hopeful, gestured at the chairs in front of the professor’s desk. 

James hesitated. It would take a stronger Double O than him to refuse Q’s hopeful eyes, so he reluctantly took a seat, waiting for Q to sit opposite him. “Well?”

Instead of immediately replying, Q looked over James’ shoulder for a moment, absently chewing his lip. Then he nodded, and focused on James’ face. “How much do you know about ESP, or psionic abilities?”

“Not much. Mostly from movies or books. Shows on the telly.” Where was Q going with all this?

“About what I expected, then.” Q watched him again, apparently trying to decide what to say. “We, those like me anyway, call ourselves the Tomorrow People. We're the next stage in human evolution. We have abilities that most people don’t have, although generations down the line, all people will have them. Telekinesis, teleportation, and telepathy—”

“You said you weren’t reading my mind.” James was surprised at how calm he sounded.

“Because I  _ can’t  _ read your mind. None of us are mind readers. It’s more… communication. We can talk to each other, mind to mind.”

“I see.” James thought about that for a moment. “And that’s all that makes you different from other people?” 

Q took a breath, shifting in the chair as if about to broach an uncomfortable subject. “We can’t kill, or commit any sort of violence. That means… we’re vulnerable to those people who can.”

James nodded, suddenly understanding what Marc meant. “Then Marc is the only person here who can use that pistol of his.”

“Yes.” Q’s hazel eyes took on a somber look that James hadn’t seen since one of the Q-branch techs had made a mistake and taken out half of one of the labs — killing himself and three other techs. 

_ Focus on your mission, James. Not Q’s eyes.  _ “What does this have to do with the kidnapped children?”

“There  _ are  _ no kidnapped children,” Q said, irritation crossing his face. “That was a story told by a group that’s been trying to locate the professor to get a lead on our… well, our base, I guess you could call it.”

James frowned. “It wasn’t terribly hard to find this place. It’s not hidden that well.” Something just wasn’t adding up. His gut said to trust Q, but he’d been wrong before…

Q’s lips quirked into a smile. “That’s because this isn’t our base. It’s a… holiday retreat.”

“A retreat,” James repeated. “Seriously?”

Q nodded. “Yes. The professor is getting on a bit, and a few of us got together to rent this place for the season. The children here are our own, taking advantage of the house for a holiday.”

“Right.” James watched Q, trying to discern truth from possible lies.  _ Our own children,  _ Q had said. Were any of these children  _ Q’s?  _ James shrugged irritably, a motion that normally would settle his shoulder holster into place but this time it served as a reminder that he was unarmed. “And your professor is another of your Tomorrow People?”

“Oh, no.” Q shook his head. “The professor has been a friend to all of us though. For the last, oh… forty years? He met John and Elizabeth long before I met them. He’s a normal human, like Marc. They help us when they can.”

Before James could ask who John and Elizabeth were, an explosion rocked the house on its foundations. “What the hell?”

Q was up out of his chair and charging through the house before the dust settled, James hard on his heels.

* * *

Questions raced through James’ mind as they ran through the house. What the hell was going on? It sounded as though a small war was going on outside the house. Why was Q running and not transporting or teleporting or whatever? Was Q talking telepathically to the others in the house? But given that Q didn’t look as though he’d stop to talk, James would just have to wait to get his questions answered.

They came to a stop in the living room, hunkering down beside Susan. “Report,” Q snapped.

Susan glared at James, but spoke aloud. “Unknowns outside. One explosion, but they’re firing into the house. Marc and the professor are returning fire. Gia’s gotten the children out already.”

Good, James thought, relieved. That lowered the number of potential hostages considerably. But the idea that a youngster like Marc and an elderly scholar like the professor were the sole protectors of the group left James cold. How to get all four of them out, so that he could take care of their attackers? He remembered Q’s little transporting trick — “Can you two transport them out of here?”

_ “Teleport,”  _ Susan snapped, subsiding as Q shot a quelling look at her.

“Yes. It’s difficult to teleport with another person, but we  _ can  _ do it. Erm…” He eyed James with concern. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“I still have the equipment you issued me.” James smirked, letting his inner apex predator shine. “I’ll give your attackers a lesson in leaving people alone that they’ll never forget.”

“Susan, get Marc. Let the professor know I’ll get him shortly.” Q waited, his eyes never leaving James, until the young woman was gone. When they were alone, Q leaned forward, pressing his forehead to James’. “Please, be careful. You still owe me an invitation to dinner.”

Then he was gone, and James couldn’t help grinning. 

* * *

“Then what did you do?”

James regarded his audience of one at the breathless question. He’d thought he would take his Quartermaster to a fancy restaurant when they got together. Instead, here they were in his flat, eating pizza out of boxes on the floor and drinking wine. At least they were using proper glasses for the wine. He was surprised at how…  _ comfortable  _ it felt. “I waited until I had a good idea of how many attackers there were, and their location. Then I tossed the grenade for a distraction, and then smoke grenade for cover.”

Here he paused, topping off his glass. It was a nice red that he’d picked up on his way home to England after his mission. He angled the bottle towards Q in unspoken question, and in response to Q’s headshake, he put the cork back in the bottle and set it on the floor in easy reach. “There were only five of them. They really weren’t at all skilled.  _ Amateurs.  _ They’d been hired from a  _ magazine,  _ Q. One of those paramilitary mercenary ones. They were pretend soldiers. I questioned them, but had no idea who hired them. I’m sorry.”

Q put his slice of pizza down in the box and put his hand on James’ knee. “I can follow the money trail. We’ll figure it out.”

“And then I’ll take them out,” James promised. Q and the Tomorrow People might not be able to use violence themselves, but that’s where protectors like James and the others came in. He didn’t approve of anyone trying to harm innocents. He leaned toward Q, their lips meeting over the pizza box. 

He lost a few minutes in Q’s arms, the box shoved to the side as they traded control of their kiss, stroking skin bared by exploring hands. He finally pulled back from Q’s delicious lips, just far enough to murmur, “Bedroom? I’ll put this away and meet you—” 

Q interrupted him chuckling. “Don’t worry about all this. I’ll take care of it.” 

James watched as Q concentrated, sending the pizza box into the kitchen, followed by the wine bottle and their glasses. “I’m impressed, you didn’t spill anything.” He grinned at the outrage in Q’s face...  _ oops. _

He jumped to his feet and ran to the bedroom, Q hot on his heels. If James had timed it correctly, Q would tackle him into the bed — and then give him a __ demonstration of how useful telekinesis could be removing their clothing. His cock twitched in anticipation. James was looking forward to _thoroughly_ exploring Q's evolutionary development. 


End file.
